


It's best to say nothing

by abrokenpieceoftruth



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 06:46:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6318823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrokenpieceoftruth/pseuds/abrokenpieceoftruth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When they fight, the crew knows not to interfere.<br/>A Tumblr prompt. The way you said "I love you": muffled, through the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's best to say nothing

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much to Talsi74656 for the prompt! I didn't mean for it to be so angsty...

They're fighting again. Well, not again—they've been fighting incessantly for at least a week, about nothing, about everything. They sit next to each other in fuming silence on the bridge, trying to act like the "command team" they're supposed to be, knowing that no one is fooled, until Kathryn barricades herself in her ready room. The crew knows that when Chakotay inevitably goes to check on her a few hours later, and their voices, if not their words, bleed onto the bridge, that they should say nothing—not when Chakotay stalks out barely hiding his frustration, not when he leaves for engineering on a barely tenable excuse, not when the captain finally emerges and snaps at everyone for being too loud or too quiet or too inefficient. There is no point; the distance of several decks between them cannot sustain the tension for long.

This time, they are not on the bridge—a rare enough occurrence for the captain that off-duty crewmen are surprised to hear raised reverberating through the bulkheads. Not for the first time, they lament that the walls are so thin.

Their voices crescendo. While the ready room still feels like a public place, her quarters might as well be a separate universe. They don't even fathom that anyone else can hear, a blessing in disguise. This needed to happen.

There is not a soul in sight when she shoves him into the corridor with a loud "ENOUGH!" It echoes.

Boiling with rage, her hands braced against the door frame, she could be a vengeful goddess. But now they are back in public, so she keeps her voice low, compacting her emotion so it burns more intensely. 

"You've made your point, Commander. Now let me be perfectly clear: how I spend my time is not your concern—not until it begins interfering with my duties. And since, as you are aware, I spend the majority of my time on the bridge, it is clearly not. So," she continues, eyes sparking with finality. "In the future, I suggest you keep your comments related to ship's business, or I will be forced to replace you with someone who will. Is that understood?"

She waits a moment for a response, but can only stare into his defiant eyes for so long before she turns away, letting the door snap closed with a furious hiss.

Chakotay stays rooted in place, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then he places an open hand on the door, as if he was trying to pass through it by sheer force of will.

"Fine," he whispers harshly. "Fine, Kathryn, if that's what it takes, I'll hold my tongue. But I'll never stop worrying—I'll never stop caring." He lets out a long sigh and his next words are barely more than a murmur: "I love you too much to watch you destroy yourself."

After a moment, he straightens, looks around furtively to make sure no one was watching, and walks off to the turbolift.

Kathryn manages to hold it together for five seconds before she slides to the floor, sobbing.

The next morning, a PADD changes hands from crewman, to ensign, to Tom, who puts it, as instructed, on Chakotay's chair. When the commander walks in, he sighs, assuming the captain has already retreated to her fortress. Then he notices the PADD. No one is looking as he reads it, but they all see—confusion, then shock, then helplessness. Only one person heard him last night, but one was enough.

"I—" he stammers. "I have to..."

"Go, Commander," Tuvok intones, saving him from having to explain behavior that they're all pretending no one has noticed. He is gone in an instant. No one says a word.

She does not reappear for three more days, but when she does, the storm has passed. It left some damage in its wake—she is too serious, still, and reddens too quickly. But she no longer ensconces herself in her office. Electricity doesn't crackle through the air every time she sets foot on the bridge. The captain and commander exchange few words, but they sit next to each other for hours, and when he goes into her ready room, the crew cannot detect a sound.  

When they see them holding hands in the mess hall a few weeks later, they know it is best to say nothing.


End file.
